


The Way She Makes Him Feel

by Merfilly



Category: Farscape
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-28
Updated: 2010-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-14 16:22:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/151184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merfilly/pseuds/Merfilly





	The Way She Makes Him Feel

It's been another close call, with _Moya_ just barely slipping free of Scorpius' trap. Pilot assures them all that the starburst was successful, while deciding just where they will go next for more supplies.

Aeryn barely notices the discussion evolving between Pilot, D'Argo, and Chiana. Her eyes come to rest solely on the man that had, yet again, almost paid the final price for knowing too much. She can see him pretending his ribs don't ache, see the stress of the past few days building up in the lines of his body.

He needs to cut loose, needs to be wound down in the same way as any soldier after a difficult mission. She knows that, understands that, even rationalizes it to herself as why she reaches out and touches his arm lightly. It's enough to get his attention, make him look at her, and then she makes her wishes known, directly though without interrupting the argument that Rygel has now entered with the other three.

All it takes is her moving a half step back, her eyes raking over his face, then down. That tight stretched black material covering his chest might as well not even be there as her gaze raked him over, traveling ever so slowly down to more enticing regions.

John moves forward that half step, drawn to her, wanting what she's offering, what he knows she can take from him. She turns on her heel then, knowing he'll follow, and takes him to her quarters, with no word to any of the crew, nor to him.

As soon as they are inside her quarters, she turns and slides her hands up over that tight shirt, her palms rasping the material over his nipples. His breath catches, holding for a moment, before she takes his mouth with hers, her tongue probing, tasting him, capturing the essence of him. He gives way, lets her have the control, just as he goes with the flow of her backing him up against the wall of the chamber, until he's trapped by her with no where to escape to.

When she breaks the kiss, his lips are parted, his eyes closed, waiting for her wishes, and she decides it's time to push him a little further. The shirt is in her way, causing her to ruck it up, pushing it over his head, only to give it and expert twist at his wrists, tightening it there as a binding behind his back. A half-coherent jumble escapes his voice, but then her hands are moving to his belt, to the fasteners of his pants, and any coherence he had flees at the feel of her long fingers gently guiding his length out of the pants.

She doesn't stop there, not when she knows just what she wants, just how to break him from the stress, to free his body of its shadows. Down to her knees, and yet he knows just who has the control here. This is at her choice, her command, and he can only surrender to her as her mouth parts for the tip of his cock. Those strong hands with their long graceful fingers don't go far, as she cups the heavier weight of his sac, massaging gently while she slowly explores the head of his cock with her lips and tongue.

He moans, hungry and needy, letting her know his wants with short little motions of his hips. She stills that motion, one arm coming up to rest against his abs, pressing him back to the wall firmly. Now she takes him deeper, tongue moving along the velvet-soft skin of his cock. The palm of her hand is around his sac, fingers stretched back, and one finger teases along the tight ring of flesh it finds there, making John try again to buck and to moan loudly.

He needs this, she knows, but she wants it. She wants to make him lose his ability to think, wants to feel his hunger fed by her skill. She takes his cock deeper, wet heat enveloping him, sucking, pulling at his essence while her touch maddens him. It's all he can do to whimper and moan and plead in soft, not-quite real words for more. She can taste him, that first wetness of his own, and then it's her name on his lips, just as she wants. Her name called over and over as she tastes all of him, his tension washing away in the flood of his release.

When she rises, she moves to kiss him again, the taste of him still there on her lips, and he folds into her care, so that she can lead him to the bed to sleep now.


End file.
